


Sugar Wolf

by Stormhowl (FireflyLullaby)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek has issues with his bunny teeth, M/M, Spark Stiles, Sweet tooth Derek, the pack is in college
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-02
Updated: 2014-02-02
Packaged: 2018-01-10 22:00:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1165033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FireflyLullaby/pseuds/Stormhowl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek splutters, miraculously looking angry and blushing at the same time. “Werewolves are not cute,” he blurts out. He wishes he could bury himself in the pile of cereal boxes, anything but this.</p><p>Stiles cackles, simultaneously cooing and singing, “Soft wolfy, shy wolfy, big ball of fur. Sugar wolfy, sweetie wolfy-” Derek grabs him mid waist before he can sing the “purr, purr, purr” part and slings him over his shoulder, ignoring Stiles’ spurts of laughter and flailing demands to be let down. </p><p>He spins around to drop Stiles into the cart but comes face to face with a wide-eyed Sheriff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sugar Wolf

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by my feels over Derek's bunny teeth because man, do I understand the woes.  
> Also lightly inspired by these two posts: [x](http://stormhowl.tumblr.com/post/73570885226/heroderekhale-so-derek-secretly-has-a-sweet%20)[x](http://stormhowl.tumblr.com/post/58941517401/swingsetindecember-i-need-fic-that-derek-is-shy)

Derek regrets refusing to get braces when he was younger – _no mom, braces are nerdy, I’ll look dumb_ – because his complex over his two front teeth has relentlessly grown unforgiving. He’s an adult, it shouldn’t even bother him… Except it does. He absolutely despises his bunny teeth, glares grudgingly at them in the mirror as if he could will them smaller with the sheer force of his glaring will. He holds his lips tight when he wants to laugh, forces his lips to clamp down into a close-lipped grin. 

When Derek opens his mouth, sometimes he sees people’s eyes flicker down and it only makes him more paranoid. Surely they’re staring at his teeth, laughing and mocking him in their heads. God forbid that a werewolf have _bunny_ teeth. He’s lucky that the fangs that pop out when he growls, sometimes to intimidate, help disguise the size of his front teeth. 

So when he does notice Stiles’ eyes glancing down at his teeth the one time he couldn’t keep his lips closed, his heart spikes and his smile falls. He clenches his fist, looking everywhere except at Stiles, expecting the incoming mockery to fall from those wet, lush pink lips.

It doesn’t come though, and he misses Stiles’ inquiring gaze and slight frown.

-

It keeps happening. When he starts to speak up, he finds Stiles’ gaze on him from across the room. Call him paranoid but he swears Stiles is looking at his teeth. He hurries through what he has to say, voice falling into a mumble at the end. He hates that he feels so ashamed, muscles tight in an anticipation of an attack on his terrible toothy flaw.

It was only in due time that Derek’s control would fail. God knows why he actually finds the annoying idiot funny. The laugh is clawing out of his stomach and trying to burst out, but he chokes it down, coughing and covering his mouth with a hand like he was catching germs. 

Stiles narrows his eyes with a calculating gleam. “Dude. You can laugh, you know? Feed my ego.” He winks. “I know my charm is infectious. Just let it go. We all know you aren’t as much of a sour wolf that everyone thinks.” Stiles grins cheekily, nudging his shoulder against the werewolf. It’s a testament to how close they’ve actually gotten that Derek doesn’t try to distance himself, instead lets a fluttering of feelings settle in his gut that seem to directly derive from the line of heat against his arm. 

Derek gulps nervously. Those aren’t feelings or butterflies. He’s only reacting this way because it’s been too long since he’s actually had physical contact with someone who is kind of pack. 

When Stiles starts humming the song let it go from that Frozen movie, it takes Derek a few seconds to recognize it. Stiles goes down in a fit of laughter when Derek pushes him, and he resolutely does not think about the lack of warmth.

-

Derek’s in the aisle of the supermarket debating whether he wants something tarty or chocolate. He stares a good minute weighing the pros and cons, whether he’s been craving for one kind of sweet more than the other lately, and decides _screw it_. He’ll get both. Derek grabs several assortments of candy bags and throws them into the shopping cart.

He doesn’t feel satisfied with his choice. Derek had gone down to his family’s favorite bakery that they’d gone to every week growing up, only to find out that it was no longer there. He’d stared at the empty, desolate shop, heart sinking and a weight forming at the back of his throat. Derek found himself frozen in front of the shop for more than half an hour lost in memories that twisted and constricted around his heart until he could barely breathe. He told himself to get a grip, chastised himself for getting emotional over a bakery shop. Told himself to get over it. 

He’s had to learn the hard way that you can never really find a replacement for the things you love and loose.

So here he is, standing in the market and filling his cart with unhealthy bags of candy and sweets, planning to sugar overload in the hopes it satisfies some part of his cravings.

He’s concentrated deeply on the quantity of which brands he should get and barely notices a familiar heartbeat until he’s whipping his head towards choked giggling.

Derek’s ears burn when he finds Stiles peering into his cart, a red shopping basket on the floor next to his feet. He’s wearing a snug moss green sweatshirt that looks enticingly soft and has to refrain from reaching out. Derek swallows audibly when Stiles looks up, caramel honey eyes twinkling from beneath a dark fan of thick lashes and an amused grin. 

“Relax, dude. I’ll keep your sweet tooth addiction a secret if it bothers you.” Derek winces at the word tooth. Stiles licks his lips, biting the lower one like he’s trying not to smile too widely. Derek knows the feeling, although it’s not for the same reasons Stiles has. “Who knew that you’re not actually a sour wolf. That’s why you’re always so broody. It’s because you’re really a sugar wolf.” Derek’s answer is to scowl.

He doesn’t know what to do with the fond smile Stiles is giving him. He’s usually on the receiving end of a biting, sarcastic smile. He feels unsure. Stiles would usually be making fun of him by now, so why does it feel like Stiles thinks Derek is cute or something? Derek is wrong, he is sure of it.

Stiles beams when he notices the Reece’s’ in the cart. “Hey! Those are my favorite!”

Derek had absolutely not thought of Stiles’ favorite candy when he’d thrown the bag in. Reece’s are simply decent candy. He’s seen other pack members munching on them. “You can’t have any,” he growls out. Stiles only grins. He eats all of Derek’s food in the apartment anyway. He sighs, remembering the days that Stiles had been equal parts too scared and impressed to encroach on Derek’s space.

Reasonably stocked on sweets, he pushes the cart quickly in hopes of leaving the boy behind. He’s only smug for a few seconds when Stiles squawks, scrambling to grab his cart from the ground with clumsy limbs chasing after him. 

The werewolf is speeding towards the line when Stiles sprints to a stop and spreads his arms out in front of the cart. He shifts side to side as Derek tries to get pass him. “Stiles!” 

“Derek!” He waves a hand at the cart. “Is that seriously all you’re getting? This is a grocery store. You should at least get things to make actual food with. You know, veggies, fruits, meat. Healthy things that aren’t just candy.”

Derek glances around to make sure no one is near to flash his fangs. “I’m a werewolf. My body keeps me healthy.”

“Derek,” Stiles hisses and Derek stops baring his teeth to blink in surprise, barely registering his fangs receding. “We are getting ingredients for nutritional meals and that is final.” He grabs the front end of the cart and drags Derek in the direction of the dairy aisle. 

He can’t help but begrudgingly mumble that Stiles is spending too much time with Lydia. Stiles laughs. “You calling me a queen, sweetums? I’m not half as powerful and awe-inspiring as the banshee goddess of our group, but I appreciate the sentiment.” 

Derek glares. “You wish you were the queen.” 

“Honey that was a terrible comeback. I suggest you shut up and take notes on your queen’s witty and wise words from now on. And I mean me. Or Lydia. Either works.” Stiles winks. He’s doing it more often and it grates on Derek’s nerves. He wants to take the boy by his shoulders and shake him roughly. It is _not_ attractive, he tells himself.

Derek doesn’t bring up the pet names. It’s going into the don’t-think-about-it folder along with the weird fond smiles he’s receiving more and more.

Derek frowns when Stiles dumps the contents of his basket into the cart. When they get to the veggie aisle, Stiles starts asking him what kinds he likes. He shrugs but narrows his eyes when the boy – he really needs to stop calling a college kid a boy – grabs carrots. 

Stiles notices his reaction and raises an eyebrow. “What? You didn’t specify. I don’t understand all of your grunts yet.” He shrugs. “Besides, I think you’d look like a cute bunny eating em’.” 

Derek splutters, miraculously looking angry and blushing at the same time. “Werewolves are not cute,” he blurts out. He wishes he could bury himself in the pile of cereal boxes, anything but this.

Stiles cackles, simultaneously cooing and singing, “Soft wolfy, shy wolfy, big ball of fur. Sugar wolfy, sweetie wolfy-” Derek grabs him mid waist before he can sing the “purr, purr, purr” part and slings him over his shoulder, ignoring Stiles’ spurts of laughter and flailing demands to be let down. 

He spins around to drop Stiles into the cart but comes face to face with a wide-eyed Sheriff.

His face drains white. “Uh.”

“What? Wha-” Stiles twists around a bit to glance at his dad. He beams and Derek doesn’t understand how Stiles isn’t sweating and panicking like Derek is to be caught in such a compromising position…

He mentally slaps himself. Don’t think about positions of any kind in front of the father of the person you’re thinking of doing said positions with. 

“Heeeyy daddio, dad. What a coincidence that we meet in the supermarket, what are the odds, especially when a certain Sheriff’s son does all the shopping.”

Stilinski clears his throat. “Just... picking up some cereal. It’s almost finished.” He crosses his arms. Stiles narrows his eyes.

“Anyway,” the man rushes, care to explain… this?” He waves his arms in front of him and that’s when he realizes he’s _still holding Stiles_ and drops him like a hot potato. Stiles stumbles but lands on two feet and whips his narrowed gaze onto Derek instead, mumbling something that sounds a little bit like ‘assbutt.’ He assumes he’s right because the Sheriff can’t help but snort, placing his palm over his mouth as if he could hide it. 

Stiles is busy trying to fix his t-shirt under his plaid flannel but misses the back scrunched at the top of the waistband of his pants. Derek doesn’t think when he discreetly tries to straighten the ducktail out. It catches the Sheriff’s attention and he drops his hands to stare at the ground hoping it will swallow him up. He wonders where his cool stoic exterior went in the last couple of years. He blames it on Stiles, the little shit, who has effectively usurped his image of perfect control.

“Uh oh.” Derek’s head whips up at the Sheriff’s words to see the man looking at his cart. He nods gravely at Derek. “You better run, or he’s going to have you on a rabbit’s diet.” 

“Hey!” The younger Stilinski yelps. “This is an intervention, a _necessary_ intervention. Candy does not count as a meal, werewolf or not.”

Stilinski ignores his son and levels his gaze on the werewolf. “Quick, I’ll distract him. Go, before it’s too late.” 

The werewolf’s eyes widen minutely while he moves to turn away but he’s instantly stopped by Stiles’ voice ringing out. “Derek Hale. If you so much as take one step, I will take all of your candy and dump it in a box of mountain ash, work my spark mojo, and will it to be never found again by anyone, werewolves and humans.”

Derek glances back and forth at the Stilinski family. He doesn’t move a good thirty seconds until Stiles is dragging him away from his dad. He looks back and catches the man with a soft, sad smile before he’s turning away.

“Oh, and Dad,” Stiles yells flippantly over his shoulder. “Just giving you a heads up that you’ll be needing to find a new meat dealer.” They turn the corner. Derek can hear the Sheriff’s heavy huff of “ah crap.” 

-

“Derek, where’s you cheese grater?”

“Derek!”

“Wha- Cheese grater? Stiles, why the fuck would I have a _cheese grater_?”

There’s a clash in the kitchen and Stiles’ head appears from around the frame of the open doorway. He looks furious over a cheese grater. Derek has never been more confused.

The boy turns his glance on Boyd, minus the angry expression. “Boyd, you up for helping me out?”

Boyd gets up from the couch without a word and follows Stiles into the newly renovated kitchen. 

When the pack was still in high school, the charred remains of the old Hale house had still been standing – or at least what was left of it. Every time he’d entered the loft he’d thought of Jennifer and his throat had closed up. He’d been stupid to think that things would be different. He hates himself for hoping and believing that it would be okay for once. Three times the charm, right?

Wrong. He’d thought- he’d thought he’d felt something special. (Right. Like Kate, Derek thinks, bitterly laughing at himself. He was a fool.) Remembers how they’d cheesily flirted over literature and flitting glances, remembers thinking about how awesome it was that someone finally understood him. 

After the Darach, the Alpha pack, the Nemeton and the Void Kitsune, and finally after Peter, the pack had come over altogether. Lydia took one step and shook her head. “No.”

Derek raised an eyebrow. 

“This loft? It’s lame. That winding staircase, the large glass window, and the balcony are great, but it’s not enough.” She pauses and whips around to the rest of the group. Erica’s smile was growing as she leaned against Boyd. Kira had been sitting by Scott who had been sitting next to Allison sitting next to Isaac. Stiles was sitting the closest to Derek. “What do you guys say about some home renovation?”

It’s been several years since then. They’d worked together over the summer until a new Hale house had been resurrected. The beginning was the hardest – there were several times he’d wolfed out, many times he’d thrown one of the werewolves out. There’d been a war raging within, a part of him that would rather keep the misery and punishing reminder of his burned childhood home if only he got to keep at least something. It was all he had left. 

The first few times they made very little progress. Memories would flash through his mind. He’d catch flashes of airy images of his younger relatives running around that weren’t really there. His hand would scrape along some surface that hadn’t been completely destroyed and he’d brutally bite down on the howl threatening to scream its way out of his throat. The skeletons of couches or lamps or drawers would be moved and Derek couldn’t take it, couldn’t handle his territory rearranging. 

One time he fucked up. He’d slashed with too much anger and force, had seen the red in Scott’s eyes flash like a burning fire, when his claw had drawn blood that gushed onto the floor. A hand had slid into his curled palm where his clawed fingers were extended, and he’d turned around to attack-

And stopped, glowing eyes fading and heavy panting wracking his chest. He’d stared into Stiles’ eyes and something in them just flushed the anger out that left him slumping with tears beginning to form in his eyes. He hadn’t cried when his family had died, hadn’t cried when Laura had died, hadn't cried when Peter had to be put down twice. So he doesn’t know why he was crying now.

Stiles had silently tugged on his hand and lead him out the house. There was only the sound of crunching leaves beneath their feet as they made their way through the forest. That, and the choked sounds of snuffling. 

They walked with streaming sunlight heating their backs and an airy breeze cooling them down, along with the shade of the tall trees relieving them of some of the summer’s sun. They continued until they started up a slope where there was strangely one lone tree on a hill of flowers. Derek had looked around confusedly, too absorbed with his warring emotions to remember how they’d gotten there.

Stiles had tugged lightly on Derek’s hand, guiding him to sit down against the tree. Even when they’d settled down, he still hadn’t let go, but squeezed just once. 

Derek squeezed back and didn’t let go either.

“When I was young,” Stiles starts softly, gazing unseeing at the field of flowers, “my mother – she was my world. I could do anything, face anything, and fight for anything with her at my back. My platonic soul mate.” He laughs shortly before his face falls. “But when she died, it was like I’d lost my tether, my anchor. My father wasn’t any better off. She’d meant just as much to him as she did I, and he’d lost that. He’d lost his sun. His son, too.” He breathes in haggardly. 

“I was angry. There was a fury in me that I couldn’t shake off. I hated my father, the only family I had left, because he wasn’t there when she died. My mother had smiled like she understood, that it was okay. She’d whispered how much she loved me, and to remind my father that too, because often it’s him against the world and he forgets that he doesn’t need to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders alone.” There’s a tear streaking down Stiles’ cheek. Derek can’t look away even though he probably should. 

“My father couldn’t stand to see any of her things out on display. His hand would tremble at the mere touch of my mother’s favorite cup, or the apron they’d share in the kitchen, the lotion she used, down to even the bobby pins and hair ties he’d find randomly strewed around the house. He’d wanted to put things away and throw out the rest.”

“I lashed out. How dare he. How dare he move her things, how dare he touch the only thing I had left. It was a slow brewing battle. Dad would move the potted plant and I’d put it back. He’d throw out her hair accessories and I’d put them back. Anything out of place had me screaming. We fought. A lot. Threw things. Sometimes destroyed her belongings in our hurt. Nothing could help us. Nothing could fix what we’d lost.”

“There was a breaking point. I was screaming and he was sitting there numbly with a bottle in his hand. That’s all he’d been doing. Sitting there on that damn couch, in my mother’s favorite spot, doing nothing but drinking day in and day out. I wanted to rile him up and it worked. I’d spit my words at his face, knowing it would destroy him.”

“He threw his bottle.” Derek tensed, anger flaring in his gut with a vengeance but fading as he kept his eyes locked on the boy pouring his heart out to him. “He’d raised his finger at me. Dad had looked me in the eye with a hatred that matched mine and told me I was a hyperactive little bastard that was ruining his life. “You killed your mother. You killed her and now you’re killing me.””

“I ran. I ran and got myself lost in the woods. I was cold, hungry, and bleeding because I’d run out without shoes. But all I could hear were his words, over and over again in my head. When I got too exhausted to go any further, I fell against a tree and ended up fainting from the exertion.”

“I was sleeping, but sometime in the night, something warm curled up around me to placate my shivering. I woke up several times through the night, running my hands through black fur. I thought it was a dream.” 

Realization dawned on Derek. He choked out one word. “Mom.”

Stiles nodded, letting his other hand run against the bark. “She licked my tears. Licked the blood off my wounds. Tucked her nose into my neck. She was gone when I woke up, my father in her place.”

“She spoke to me in my sleep as a wolf. That day, she saved both my father and I. Do you know what she said?”

Derek could feel tears sliding down his cheek. He shook his head minutely. 

“Sing your sorrow. Call your loved ones with your song, and run. Run with your pack until the force of your feet has the world turning underneath, because together your strength will know only of love. Let your heart howl and let your hurt heal.”

Everything inside of Derek had broke free, the dam of every weight pressing against his chest tumbling out. He threw his head back to howl in agony, body shifting into a large black wolf with white paws. 

The pack had heeded his call. Even though there were humans amongst them as they ran, something had let their feet leap inhuman lengths and kept their hearts beating steady and undeterred despite the far miles. 

They’d run under the full moon as one and woken up sprawled amongst each other as pack. 

The house was finished within a few weeks.

-

“Derek.” He’s snapped out of his memories and sitting up quickly from his place on the loveseat. 

Lydia is staring down at him with crossed arms. “You okay?”

Derek nods, sweeping a hand over his closed eyes. He hadn’t realized he’d been dazing off.

“Okay. Well, I think you should talk to Stiles. He’s been clanging around the kitchen, and you know how he is about handling kitchenware roughly that it’ll scratch.”

He glances in the direction of the kitchen, eyebrows furrowing as he pauses. “Do… you know why he’s mad?” 

Lydia shrugs. “Maybe hormones are making him pissy.” She gives him her trademark smile, the one that means she knows something that he doesn’t. Derek sighs to himself. He won’t be getting anything out of her.

He makes his way around Lydia, trudging into the other room. He’s greeted with Stiles slamming the oven shut, Boyd further off in the corner cutting what looks like a cucumber. He pauses as Derek enters and glances at Stiles before wiping his hand on the apron, putting the knife down, and exiting. 

There’s a silence as Derek stands awkwardly to the side. Stiles is turning knobs on the oven for whatever he’s baking. “Stiles,” he speaks softly after a moment. Stiles ignores him. He repeats himself. 

“Stiles!” He barks out finally, getting annoyed by the lack of a response. 

The boy laughs, a bitter biting sound. “Not so amusing when you’re on the receiving end, huh, Hale?”

Derek freezes. Swallows. Stiles doesn’t ever call him Hale. He tries to think over what he did wrong, why Stiles was ignoring him… Oh.

The werewolf bites his lip. “Stiles... I didn’t mean it like that.”

He drops the pan that he’s been holding onto the counter and spins around. “Derek, you ignored me. For a whole week. Did me wanting for you to just eat a little healthier bother you that much? You could have said something but you don’t ever talk to me. And then out of the blue only invite me over because the pack was going to be here too. How do you think I’m supposed to take that?”

Shit. Derek starts to freak out. How is he supposed to explain that the reason he’d tried distancing himself was because he needed the space? That he didn’t understand what this growing feeling was, that there was something settling within the crevices of his chest that made- made Stiles mean so much more than Jennifer or Kate… or even more than Paige had ever meant to him? That maybe it was just because Stiles was the closest to him out of the pack, made the effort to spend time with him, and made Derek feel like he was something… maybe special? But he can’t understand that, comprehend the possibility, especially when two out of the three people he’d loved saw him as something to be manipulated, used for their own means, and tossed to the side like trash? 

Just last month he had overheard Allison talking to Stiles about some guy in college that was “getting kinda friendly with you” when she’d spotted the two on what looked like a date. As much as Derek had wanted to know if Stiles had someone… he also didn’t want to hear about it, a surge of hurt and jealousy balling up in his stomach. 

That day was kind of enlightening for him in figuring out that he didn’t want Stiles as just a friend. It scared him. It had smacked him in the face, left him breathless in the realization. 

He was in love with Stiles. 

Derek liked the stupid pet names that were probably just teasing on Stiles’ part. He liked how Stiles would prod him to talk, liked how his gaze never left Derek when he spoke. The best days were when Stiles would show up randomly with movies or food or video games, liked that Stiles wanted to share his excitement and curiosity over things with Derek. He liked eating the food the boy cooked him. Liked hearing him laugh, the way expressions flashed across his face as he talked, limbs always in some sort of motion. When Stiles got serious, worked his spark in ways that Derek never dreamed could be done, he believed of the good in magic like he’d imagined it to be as a kid.

He could go on and on about Stiles. The kid was beautiful with his honey whiskey eyes that conveyed so much. Pale skin that often flushed an adoring red at his cheeks, especially when he was bursting out in guffaws. The scattering of moles were cute – he hadn’t ever really thought moles could even be cute – because it was a part of Stiles. When he laughed it was wide mouthed and open, so full of life. 

Stiles stared at him expectantly during his internal freak-out. He searched Derek’s face for an answer. He seemed to find something because his face slackened, softening as he breathed out. “Okay. Whatever you’re trying to figure out… Deal with it. Just know that you’re not alone. Talk to us, dude. Really talk to us, talk to someone. I’m not angry anymore, but just know that the ignoring was a dick move.” He raises a finger at Derek. “So don’t do it again. It’s not an excuse and it’s not the solution to anything.”

He nodded quickly and murmured a quiet apology. He received a small smile in reply. It was enough for now. 

“Now you get to help me.” Stiles handed a mixing bowl full of dough and a whisk dug into it. He nudged Derek to stand next to him at the counter, and side-by-side, they worked steadily on through the comfortable silence of the kitchen and the background sound of the pack next door.

**Author's Note:**

> I do the beta thing myself so if you find any mistakes feel free to send them my way~ (Comma here, comma there, commas everywhere!) - [Tumblr](http://stormhowl.tumblr.com)  
> I wish i had worn my retainers because i'm too shy to smile with my bunny teeth :c (but they are hella adorable on derek, and stiles thinks that too so)  
> 


End file.
